


Armada duPont: The Mysterious Vacation

by WilliamLeonard



Series: Armada duPont Mystery Stories [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Comedy, Detective, Excuse Me This Isn't Nancy Drew At All What Are You Talking About, Gen, Mystery, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilliamLeonard/pseuds/WilliamLeonard
Summary: Armada duPont, the famous girl detective, is taking a vacation. A detective's work is never done though, and she soon gets roped into mysteries! Hate it when that happens.





	1. En Route

Armada duPont, the greatest girl detective the world has ever known, is taking a vacation. 

It turns out that all this sleuthin' and deducin' is a lot of hard work! She is certain the world will not spontaneously combust into a hellchaos of unsolved mysteries if she decides to put her feet up for a week or two. Thus she sits relaxed, on board a train, passing across the placid Eastern European countryside on a glistening autumn morning.

Any on-lookers looking on this sight would no doubt wonder why a seventeen-year-old American girl is traveling First Class Express through the fields of Latvia towards one of her numerous summer homes. It is, however, no surprise to the reader's trained eye that Armada is a member of the wealthy and prestigious DuPont family — the heirs to one of the largest, most profitable chemical companies in the world.

“I do not support the DuPont Corporation's controversial business practices, damaging treatment of the environment, and lobbying against climate change action,” Armada says, defensively. Not to anybody in particular. She just feels internally conflicted sometimes about this stuff.

To distract herself from confronting the skeletons in her ancestral closet, Armada fishes her headphones out of her Sleuth-Sack, and queues up an album on her antique iPod — tuning out of the train's rocking ambience as she stares through the window. She has been enjoying this new-fangled ‘noise’ music lately, even if her uncle Eleuthère might disapprove.

…Besides, it's not as if she's embraced her family's privilege or anything. She's never accepted any handouts. Well, except for the sizable inheritance she received upon her birth — but that was just customary!

Armada silently decries her inability to relax, as the soothing sounds of Merzbow screech in her ears, and the train continues its stately voyage.


	2. Home Sweet Home

“Great gumshoes, this summer home is larger than I remembered,” Armada duPont muses aloud. She has been delivered here by private carriage from the train station, and now stands dwarfed by the mansion's regal towers and walls of smooth stone. It feels imposing, in a neutral way — which describes most things to do with her family, come to think of it.

“Labdien un laipni lūdzam, kundze DuPont,” greets the butler by the door — a wizened, unsmiling man with a strong, broad figure unbefitting of his age.

Armada makes a mental note to probably try and learn some Latvian eventually. “Uh, good morning,” she compromises, as she steps indoors.

Her footsteps echo on the tiled floor of the large entrance hall, adorned with chandeliers and fancy spiral staircases. Apart from the occasional member of staff shuffling about their duties, she is the summer home's sole occupant. “A house all to myself — now _that's_ what I call a vacation!” she muses further, with growing excitement.

“But where will I stay?” Armada wonders. In a house this large, she won't be short of choice — but which room to choose? She realises, in a growing cloud of worry, that a mystery is beginning to rear its quizzical head. Not while she's on vacation! Will she ever be free of these accursed, extremely fun mysteries?

She decides to sleuth around the mansion in search of the best room. (Yeah, she's just suspended sleuthing operations and all, but just one little sleuth can't hurt.) With her trusty magnifying glass in hand, she sneaks from room to room, examining their contents in turn. Guest room: too boring. Cellar: too spooky. 2nd floor bedroom on right: too small. 5th floor bedroom, third on left: too old.

After an hour, Armada reaches the drawing room. Opening the door, she is greeted by a dazzling array of fancy furniture, weird glass things on the tables and mantelpieces, and shelves of books stacked up to the ceiling that nobody's ever read.

Oh my god it's _perfect_. She immediately sets up shop: tossing her Sleuth-Sack onto the nearest velvet canapé and practically leaping onto another purple Victorian couch close by.

Armada reclines in selfish comfort, drinking in her expensive surroundings, absently planning out the rest of her week of luxury. “Perhaps golf on Tuesday? Oh, but the salmon will be plentiful in the lake this time of year…” she mumbles to herself in a 19th-century-English-princess-y way.

She is in the middle of outlining her mountain biking itinerary for Friday when she hears a grunt from the other side of the room.

Armada freezes. Her bespectacled eyes dart across the room with furtive fervour. The rest of the room is a mess of chairs, tables, and more weird glass things, so she can't search for intruders without taking a closer look.

With imperceptible motions, she silently whips out her magnifying glass, moves it up to her eye, and tries to calm herself as she examines further. She is _not_ going to faint on this fainting couch, dangit.

A figure slowly rises from within the clutter, and Armada cowers behind the couch's silly-looking raised back. She hears the figure speak: a tired gruff voice. “Uggghhhhh. I need to sleep more often, god damn.”

Wait. She knows that voice. Peeking her head above the couch's embroidered brim, she timidly calls out, “Dana?”

The figure jumps back in surprise. “Oh holy shit. When did you get here?”

Armada can now make out the long tossed black hair, crooked scientist glasses, and ‘ _DARKNESS OF MODARN SOCIETY’_ t-shirt of none other than Dana Webber — her investigating partner and transgirl rockstar extraordinaire.

“Um. Pleased to meet you,” Armada manages, as she removes herself from her uncomfortable hiding position, dusting herself off neatly in front of her best friend. (Dana does not do the same. She isn't known for giving much of a hoot.) Her trepidation vanishes, and is promptly replaced with confusion by this pretty strange turn of events. “Wait… how did you get here?”

“Well, I heard—” Dana starts, and immediately stops to yawn. Armada waits patiently for her to resume. “I, uh, heard you were on vacation, and I was going on a school trip anyway, so I took a different plane and went here to hang out.”

This mystery ( _curses!_ ) grows more curious by the minute. “But how did you know I'd be in this room?”

“Well, like, I didn't. I was waiting, and then I wanted to sleep a little.” Dana shrugs. “This was the nicest room here.”

Armada nods in agreement. “True.” She never fails to be impressed by Miss Webber's skills of perception.

Dana suspiciously eyes a weird glass thing perched on the centre of a Louis XVI-style coffee table. “What even are these things, anyway. Like is this a statue, or.”

“Whatever it is, it's suitably fancy indeed!” Armada smiles, but only a bit. “I guess.”

Gingerly, Dana reaches out to touch it, but reconsiders mid-movement.

As if to diffuse the situation before it can get any more strange, the sound of a bell rings through the house — signifying the arrival of luncheon. “OhlookatthatI'mstarvingsweetlet'sgo,” Dana stumbles, as she stumbles in equal measure over the coffee table to reach the door.

Armada follows, decidedly less clumsily. Lunch will be good, anyway. A delicious start to a wonderful vacation — and with her best friend too, no less!


End file.
